Twisted Tactics The Shawn Parker Morgan Story
by badertotts
Summary: Living in the looming shadow of the horrific trauma she once endured, Shawn Parker Morgan is an embittered shell of cynicism and self-preservation. Obsessive, she does whatever it takes to win the battle for Gotham's soul, loosely clutching her own sanity as she desperately tries to lead Gotham into the light. The question is, what rules will she break to break a man with no rules?


Chapter One

I stared straight ahead at the camera, my expression deadpan as the woman behind me pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. My choppy layers were often unruly and today was no exception. I swallowed a hard lump in my throat, clenching my jaw muscles instinctively. The small gesture sent the uneven curtain of hair to spill across my cheek once more. I waved the girl away, knowing her attempts to keep my hair in check were futile.

"We're live in five, everybody! Let's get the stage clear." There was a mass shuffling of feet and paperwork and I was soon swamped in a bright, hot light. I relaxed into my chair very minutely, the shock of the sudden wave of light comforting.

"Sound check.. I need a little more from mic 3. Give me a sound check, Shawn."

"Treble, treble. Check, check, A, B, C, treble, treble."

"Alright we're golden. Stations… Live in 5.. 4.. 3.."

There was a loud pop and we were cast into sudden darkness. The room around me was pitch black, a mass shuffling was all to be heard. I kept quiet, holding my breath. The familiar sense of panic washed over me as a striking sense of déjà vu permeated my senses.

"Stand by people! Everyone stay still!" I clutched the arms of my chair, regulating my breathing. I mentally forced myself to count backwards from ten, simultaneously taking an inventory of my surroundings.

 _I am in the studio at the corner of Broad street and Fourth Street. I am wearing a black shirt. I am here with seventeen other people. The lights will kick back on in a few seconds._

I could feel the muscles in my legs beginning to cramp as Jared shouted instructions this way and that. Despite my knowledge of how rigid my body was I just couldn't relax. I silently begged the system to reboot.

 _My name is Shawn Parker Morgan. My name is Shawn Parker Morgan. My name is Shawn Parker Morgan._

The lights snapped back on, the piercing sound of microphone feedback assaulting our ears. Everyone around me winced, rushing to cut the noise. Miranda ripped the microphone cable from the wall, killing the sound. Everyone released a tense breath, looking around at one another.

I pushed myself up from my chair and bit the inside of my cheek as hard as I could, keeping my expression calm and unaffected. With not a word or indication of where I was going I turned on my heel and walked with measured, determined steps off the set and down the hall to my office. Someone called after me.

"Yo, Shawn," the voice rang out, clearly annoyed.

"Hey!" Jared snapped. "Why don't you worry about what we pay you for and…" His aggressive tone was muted by the snap of my door. I stood in the center of the brightly lit room for a moment, staring at myself in the mirror above my make-up table.

 _I am fine. I am safe. I am Shawn Parker Morgan. I am twenty four years old. I am in my office_.

There was a knock at the door. I said nothing.

"It's Jare."

I hesitated a moment but ultimately let him in. He locked the door behind him.

"I'm sorry Shawn, I don't know what happ-," he began. I wrapped my arms around him so quickly and with such force he stopped talking. "I'm sorry." He held me tight against him, placing a comforting hand on the back of my head. I pressed my face against his chest, focusing on the soft cotton of his navy blue t-shirt. Within seconds I had pulled away, clenching my teeth harder than was comfortable.

I sank back into my desk chair, rooting around in one of the drawers with a shaky hand. Jared ran a hand through his hair, watching protectively as I tossed two pills down my throat, draining the remains of my flask. I placed the flask down carefully, laying my hands flat on the surface of the desk. I looked Jared right in the eye and held his gaze.

Finally I spoke.

"Were the backup generators cleared during equipment check this morning?"

"They were signed off, yes."

"By whom?"

"Charlie signed-,"

"Fire him." A moment of silence hung in the air.

Jared knew better than to argue. He nodded once, breaking eye contact.

"Shawn…" I waited for him to finish but he just blew out a long breath of air, rubbing the back of his neck. He nodded again, turning to reach for the doorknob.

"Jared!" I stammered, immediately regaining my composure. He turned to face me, concern evident in his features. "Stay with me tonight," I whispered. He nodded silently, his expression soft.

I did my best to regain my steely reserve on the drive home from the studio that evening. Try as we might to get the systems back up and running, there was nothing to be done. Miranda had eventually discovered there was something jamming the signal but what or where it was coming from was a mystery. Our heads were spinning by late afternoon and tension was running high. I made the executive decision to give up and call it a day, much to the relief of my team.

An hour later I was nearly home, a bottle of my favorite wine tucked carefully in my bag. Despite my eagerness to finally be home after the stressful ordeal that was this morning, my thoughts unwillingly returned to events of just a few hours ago. Why hadn't the backup generator kicked on? Charlie had always seemed like a thorough employee, it was odd that he would simply overlook a detail like that. However I stood by my decision to let him go. There was no room for mistakes when it came to things like that. Being cast into darkness was not an option for me. A shiver wracked my body.

I didn't even want to begin to delve into the curious signal jam. What kind of satellite could affect an entire studio of equipment like that? Our systems operated on multiple types of frequencies; it had to have been something fairly complex to take them down and keep them disabled. My thoughts fizzled out as I pulled into the parking garage of my apartment building. It was still fairly light out, much to my relief. I threw my bag over my shoulder and locked my car, tucking my car key between my middle and ring finger. Despite the earliness of the evening, I took absolutely no chances of being caught defenseless in a city like this. It was a short walk to the elevator and an even shorter ride to my floor. I made it inside my apartment with no issue.

I locked all three locks and set my alarm, starting my nightly ritual. I checked the den and under the kitchen table, pulled back the shower curtain and peeked under the bed. I checked all closets and rechecked the balcony door to ensure it was secure. Everything was as it should be. I was alone until whenever Jared showed up. He lived ten minutes from me in the suburbs where he stopped to grab clothes for the stay. I silently appreciated him in that moment as I did at least once a day. I wondered if he knew how much these gestures meant to me. I showed little in the way of emotion, yet he remained vigilant in his path of protection. Whatever I needed, Jared was there to provide it.

I took some time to change out of my studio clothes and into a pair of sweatpants, wasting no time in uncorking my bottle of wine. With glass in hand I sank down into the couch, turning on the TV. The news came into focus, the one and only thing I watched these days. This city had always been a raging nuthouse but it seemed we were on a crime incline again these days. That was the way Gotham worked. The criminals rose and fell as the years progressed, a natural ebb and flow of destruction. I assumed other cities had the same kind of spikes in crime rates as the time passed but perhaps it was a little less severe.

Jack Ryder was reporting as usual, the headline above him reading ' **POSTPONEMENT OF THE SHAWN PARKER MORGAN SHOW'.** It was reassuring to know how effective my team of employees was at handling their orders…besides the mishap with the generators this morning, of course. Dahlila definitely took her PR position seriously. I had immediately sent her to the local news station to explain that this week's episode of the SPM Show would be postponed until the following week when we would air our very first two hour segment to make up for the absence. She had even handled calling our sponsors and the show's main benefactor to explain the situation before being told. I felt a pang of appreciation for the woman as I sipped from my glass.

"… _more on the Shawn Parker Morgan story now. What have fans got to say about the week-long postponement? Some are up in arms about the sudden and unexpected cancellation. Christine M. has written in explaining that the show is a beacon of hope for herself and many like her. She writes that she is worried many will lose out on the reassurance they gain from hearing the stories of emotional and mental triumph Shawn reads every week. Dylan K. from downtown says he is sure there is a reasonable explanation as to why the show was cancelled this week. While he seems to agree with Christine and many others that the show is something many rely on for hope and peace of mind, things like this are inevitable._

 _What is most important here, folks, is that the viewers take what she has taught them up until this point and continue to utilize that in their day to day lives. Shawn has expressed her deepest apologies for the technical difficulties that have caused the cancellation and assures all viewers that next week's episode will be well worth the patience. We're taking a call now from Cody G, Cody what are your thoughts?"_

" _Yeah hi Jack, I just wanted to say on behalf of myself and the rest of my group that we really appreciate everything Shawn does for our recovery. We started out with a small gathering of only three of us and it's grown over the past six months to fifteen people! We meet at the same time every week to talk about the struggles of the past seven days and how we overcame them and what we can continue to work on. Then we sit around the television and watch Shawn's segment, it's really inspiring. You can really lose hope in a city like this but Shawn gives us that hope back. She reminds us all that we are worth more than our surroundings."_

" _I'm sure Shawn would be delighted to hear such kind words, Cody, thanks for calling in," Jack continued. "Stayed tuned in for updates on the matter but as of right now it looks like viewers across the city will have to sit tight and wait for next week's segment. Over to Vicki Vale on the streets of Gotham where another shooting has-,"_

A soft rap on the door drew me back to my surroundings. I drained the last of my glass and popped up off the couch, peeking through the small circular lens in the center of the door. As expected, it was Jared. I undid the locks and disabled the alarm temporarily, securing the door once more as soon as he had stepped through.

"I brought a couple subs," he informed me as he placed the food bags down on the counter. I met him on the opposite side of the counter as he emptied the bags and set us up with plates and napkins. I filled my glass of wine, pouring one for Jared as well.

"Thanks." I handed him his glass and took my plate. He clinked his glass against mine.

"No, thank _you_." I gave him a half smile, rolling my eyes. I sprawled out on the loveseat, Jared taking the couch. He kicked off his shoes and crossed his legs, taking a healthy bite of his sub. "Maaaan, I was staaaarving," he groaned between bites. "Can we change this shit? Call me crazy but romanticizing the moral decay of our city is kind of getting old."

"Wow, feeling poetic tonight?" I teased, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged, chewing.

"I don't know dude," he said between chews, "I'm just over it. We have to combat this stuff at work and like, the news is solely focused on it and I just want to watch a movie about dogs or something for once. Like we need a palette cleanser every once in a while, right?" I watched him in amusement as he took another gargantuan bite of his sandwich, fiddling with the remote one-handed. "You know what, you need a dog. Something to cuddle you and keep you company."

"I've considered it," I admitted thoughtfully. He glanced at me seriously, using a lighter tone as he continued.

"You know, you might be able to talk to your doctor about…" he peeked over at me again to make sure he wasn't overstepping, "about a service dog." I looked away from him to the TV, seeing the picture but not watching. "You could take him everywhere if he were a service dog." I smiled ruefully.

"I don't think so." We both watched the TV for a moment.

"Why Shawn?" he whispered. My back muscles tightened as indignation settled into my bones.

"Because _Jared_ , I need to be a symbol of hope for these people and if I give in to this and use a crutch like a service dog that means I don't have my shit together and-,"

"Hey, Shawn, hey," he stopped me, hearing the panic lace my voice. I immediately reigned myself in, flattening my expression once more. "What if having a service dog shows others it okay to use that as a medium to cope or for comfort? If they saw you with a dog-,"

"They would know that I've been lying to them for the past eight months." He was silent now. "They would see the real Shawn. They would think I'd taken a step backwards when really I've been a mess all along-,"

"I think you're looking at this the wrong way-,"

"I don't think so-,"

"PTSD is nothing to be ashamed of-,"

"What the fuck do you know about PTSD, Jared?" I snapped. There was no trace of anger or annoyance on his face, only concern. He set down his glass of wine as I drained mine, immediately feeling the guilt set in. I felt the fuzziness in my brain as the alcohol slithered through my blood stream, fueling my anger. It was easier to control my composure when I was sober but the urge to drink always won in the end. It was one of the only two things in this world that helped me sleep. Jared was the second.

He slipped off the couch and joined me on the loveseat, wrapping his arms around me. "Come here," he urged me, but I was already trying to push him away. My breathing quickened as I began to panic, the déjà vu hitting me full force.

"Stop!" I wailed. He quickly tore his hands away from me, holding them up in truce. His expression was pained. He looked torn. I immediately shut down mentally, turning off all emotion.

 _Don't feel, don't feel… This is my apartment. I am wearing sweatpants. My name is Shawn Parker Morgan. My name is Shawn Parker Morgan…_

I pushed myself up off the couch and floated into the kitchen, my face blank. I opened the cabinet above the fridge and pulled down a bottle of whiskey.

I took a long, painful swing, staring straight ahead at the stark white refrigerator. Jared remained silent on the loveseat, just a few feet away.

The room swam before me, the fridge coming in and out of focus. The TV was the only thing to be heard. After a while, I head Jared move from the living room to the kitchen where he came to a stop behind me. I didn't turn to look at him. He reached around me, careful not to touch me, slipping the bottle from my fingers. I heard the swish of liquid as he took a deep gulp from the bottle, then another. I relaxed my shoulders a little.

"Why do you stay," I asked flatly. He was quiet for a minute. I turned slowly, staring up at him with hooded eyes. He gazed back into mine, searching my soul as he did on many occasions, hungry for answers. I could see the burning confusion mixed with his incredible self-control to never over-step my line of comfort.

I gently pulled his face close to mine, more comfortable being in control. I held him there for a second, our breathing hitched, our hearts hammering as the alcohol made me weak. I admired his strength for as long as he was able to hold it but a man was only a man. He closed the half-inch between our lips and kissed me with a guarded ferocity. The whiskey blurred my dark thoughts and made things easier. My body naturally tensed as Jared kissed me with more intensity, his fingers instinctively twisting in my hair. My body screamed in protest but the signals got lost on the way to my brain, a wonderful side effect of the large amount of alcohol I had just swallowed in a very short time.

"Jare-," I whispered worriedly as he picked me up and sat me down on the counter, his hands now cupping my face. His breathing was heavy as he pushed against me.

"Do you trust me?" he whispered in my ear. I couldn't help myself, despite my coded instinct to push him away. I dug my fingernails into his sides as I wrapped my legs around him, pulling our bodies as close together as they would go. Jared groaned softly.

"I trust _only_ you."


End file.
